Spoiled
…
"You have not been eating again." Ulquiorra looks upon the cold, untouched tray of food on the coffee table he'd retrieved at her request. It is made of cherry wood.
Orihime looks miserably at the food and says simply, "I'm not hungry."
Ulquiorra regards the teapot and touches a long finger to its side, flicking the porcelain. It is empty. The hot water is gone and he notices that a small basket of tea leaves is missing from the small array she'd been given. He considers her, cocking his head to the left. He towers over her easily but he is not being intimidating; merely inquisitive. "I suppose it is understandable. You are in your menstruation cycle."
Orihime doesn't look surprised that he knows, or horrified, merely resigned that he does, and will regardless. The first time she had found out that he knew, and identified it as unfamiliar to him had been one of the most humiliating moments in her life. With super-human attributes and an animal-like form that as his true being, he'd been able to smell it on her; the old blood.
She clutches her abdomen and chews on the insides of her cheeks.
"You are in pain." It is not a question.
Orihime merely nods and turns to him. Asking for things to ensure her comfort has become norm for her; a girl who had once hesitated even asking for a pencil. She wonders if she has become spoiled because of Ulquiorra's quiet, sure care. "A heat pack?" she asks, teeth gritting as she rides another cramp. It is cold in Hueco Mundo, and cold does nothing to alleviate her distress.
Ulquiorra inclines his head and shuts the door quietly.
Orihime doesn't think on the abruptness or the rudeness of her request.